


her eyes say that it is true

by mywayhome



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M, couldn't be her, lizzie apologizing???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 13:20:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17643587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mywayhome/pseuds/mywayhome
Summary: He cannot think of the trial to come and the sentence that awaits him. He can only hear her words ringing in his ears—I love you, I love you, I love you. It is all that matters, and her eyes say that it is true.





	her eyes say that it is true

I know, Red.

——————————————————————

He has heard the tape. She just knows it. It has been 72 hours since he told her that he would hear it and she just knows that, by now, he has. 

All she can do is cry. She thinks, she cries. She remembers, she cries. She gets up from her chair to put on her coat, she cries. 

She wants to go to him now; to try and right this irreversible wrong and what defense does she have? She felt smothered? She thought he could get out of it? Her, at this point, clearly disturbed half-sister that she has only known for a few months told her to? No reason and no excuse will justify her betrayal.

What does he think? Yes, he is an imposter. Yes, he is not her father. And she is not sure of much else, but she is sure of one thing: he loves her, somehow. She has betrayed him so many times, in so many ways, and he has still loved her and protected her, whoever he is. Every time, she has paid him dirt.

She does not deserve who he is, that much at least is clear to her. He has hurt her and he has deceived her, but he has never betrayed her.

He thinks she loves him. He thinks she still believes him to be her father and that there is some amount of love there. Truth be told, she never believed him to be her father. Of course, the DNA test had fooled her into accepting it, but there was always so much doubt and just something she could not, for the life of her, put her finger on. Because, my goodness, when she looked at him she felt different—not at all like Raymond Reddington’s daughter. And she could justify it in her mind with some sort of Freudian logic, but it was all in vain; there were mangled up feelings there that she could not explain away. In that sense, the revelation that Reddington was not Reddington—and therefore, not her father—was not a surprise to her. It was perhaps the easiest thing for her to accept since she walked down the Post Office steps toward him on that first day.

No, she was not surprised. In fact, she was relieved. Not being the daughter of the man you have anything but familial feelings toward has its benefits. And yet, it scared her too. It scared her that she was that much farther away from the truth and damn it, why can’t he just tell her the truth? She has waited for it for years, trying to decipher it all on her own. She felt so close and it was all ripped away again. In the end, that’s why she did what she did. Some sort of twisted revenge for the destruction of her relatively blissful ignorance. It was a terrible reason to send her friend—yes, that is what he is—to face the death penalty. And she has felt guilty plenty in her life, but never like this. She is not afraid of what he will do to her; she knows he would not harm her. She is just so sorry.

But this is not something that she can tearfully apologize for. No, this is unforgivable. And she will not blame him for whatever will come.

She will pull herself together enough to go to him. Her apology will not be enough. Nor will her tears make up for the terror she has caused, but he must know that she regrets what she has done. She cannot let him spend another minute believing that she is not sorry; that she feels justified. This is not like all of the other times. She will not play the victim. She will not blame him and she will not let him wonder if she regrets hurting him. No, he will know all that she knows. No more secrets, no more games. Just truth, at least on her end. She is well aware that it will not rectify the consequences of her betrayal, but at least he will know that she is not numb to his hurt and that she does regret this.

She does not remember the drive. She does not remember entering the building. She does not remember walking past the guard. All that she knows is that she is looking into the cell and he is crying. There are real tears pouring out of his eyes. He is audibly sobbing and she is so sorry.

She says nothing. She only turns to the guard, flashes her badge, and prays to gain entrance into where he is confined. It’s all magic, how things work when you come wrapped in sheer determination; the guard opens the door.

Instantly, she is in front of him. She will not touch him, it will not help. All she can do is fall to her knees at his feet and beg him to forgive her. She does. He does not respond. She can’t seem to blame him and she even predicted this (his lack of response, not his tears). She tells him that she is so sorry and that she knows that is not enough. She is crying now, too, so loud and she doesn’t care that the guard can hear. All she cares about is trying to make him believe that she is sorry.

“I will get you out of here. I am so sorry. I will not let them kill you. I will find a way,” she whispers.

At this, he looks up. Tears are running races down his cheeks, and she has never seen his eyes look the way they do now: defeated, and broken, and wet. She knows that she will see that sight forever and no amount of sorry will ever be enough to wash away the sight of him now.

She is so sorry.

He believes her, always knowing that all of the reckless behavior would catch up to her conscious at some point. He knows that her heart is good and because of that, she cannot go on treating the ones that love her the way she has without feeling regretful. He just didn’t know that she would go this far. Of all the voices he was prepared to hear on that recording, hers was not among them. Somehow, he had not seen that one coming. For all of his gut feelings and intuitive predictions, he had not seen that one coming. And it removed his heart from his chest and his breath from his lungs. He is aware that he needs to stop crying, stop being so emotionally open in front of his betrayer, but he just can’t. His body has had enough and he cannot, for the life of him, shut off the tears that have, at this point, created small puddles on the cold floors beneath him. She has finally broken him all the way down.

And now, she is begging for his forgiveness. She says that she knows that he can never give it to her, but she is just so sorry. She regrets it. She wants to take it back. And now, she will not let them kill him.

Just like with Connelly, she will not let him face the death penalty. 

That is ultimately what makes him look at her. He had heard it in her voice, but he needs to see the truth in her eyes—it is there.

He knows that he should not forgive this betrayal; knows that it is too much this time, but he can’t help it. Her eyes, they hold the truth. She is so sorry. She is going to fight for him. He believes her. 

And so, he threads his fingers through her hair. She is surprised at this, having not expecting him to even look at her during this visit. 

She moves her hands to the crooks of his elbows. She will not let go this time.

“I know, Red.”

He blinks at this. Most obviously, because he is curious as to what piece of the puzzle her brilliant mind has obtained, but also because the rigid Reddington that had become his name as of late was missing in action.

“I know that you are not my father. I know that you are not Raymond Reddington. But, Red, I don’t care. It doesn’t matter that much who you are to everyone else anymore. What matters to me is that I love you. I have been denying it, but I love you. You are not my father, you are not who you have said, and I still love you. And I am so sorry.”

The tears are back and they are spilling from his eyes again. He cannot think of the trial to come and the sentence that awaits him. He can only hear her words ringing in his ears—I love you, I love you, I love you. It is all that matters, and her eyes say that it is true.


End file.
